


crawling all the way

by elysiumwaits



Series: all the ashes in my way [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angry Sex, Billy Hargrove is an Asshole and Steve Harrington is Into It, Blasphemy, Demon Billy Hargrove, Fighting As Foreplay, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Religious References, Sex Magic, Soul Bond, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Witch Steve Harrington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiumwaits/pseuds/elysiumwaits
Summary: Steve Harrington is a storm waiting to be unleashed, and Billy's standing in the eye.Or, Billy's found a kindred spirit in Steve, and they come to an understanding.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: all the ashes in my way [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655353
Comments: 21
Kudos: 306





	crawling all the way

**Author's Note:**

> Any lore here is based on what I just kind of already know, what I can surface-Google, and an extensive obsession with Supernatural that spanned like 6 years. Please forgive any religious references that I've gotten incorrect!
> 
> Standard disclaimer that opinions on certain characters by other, demonic characters are not necessarily accurate to my own opinions. Billy doesn't like Nancy, and Nancy doesn't like Billy (in this fic). Excessive use of italics for emphasis is my brand.
> 
> Un-beta'ed and written for stress relief, so... you get what you get, sorry.
> 
> Title is from "Which Witch" by Florence + the Machine.

To say that Billy is _smitten_ by Steve Harrington is to imply that Billy is capable of feeling affectionate. 

He isn't. Anymore. Once upon a time, when this universe was young and Billy was too, he was a creature made of pure things, like _compassion_ and _protection_. He was tasked with guarding the creatures made in his Holy Father's image, guiding them gently through life and keeping them safe from sin. Temptation, gluttony, all of it was a danger. He was young, and he was _righteous_ , and he was stupid.

Billy isn't smitten. He can play at affectionate, can kiss and hug and go through all of the motions that _look_ like affection. But he no longer has the ability to feel things like understanding, can't do things selflessly anymore. So when he kisses Steve, it's not with something so pure as _tenderness_. Steve isn't a fool, either - he knows that Billy's touches come with a brand of ownership, a collar and a leash instead of something so sweet as a promise ring.

It's interesting to find such a kindred spirit in a _human_ , of all creatures.

"You know what he is, don't you?" 

Billy's not supposed to hear. He's not even technically eavesdropping, though, so Steve can't tell him off for it. All he's doing is smoking a cigarette on the patio of the Harrington family house with the sliding door open, while Wheeler _once again_ tries to explain to Steve how dangerous Billy is.

It's not his fault that he's got supernatural, inhuman hearing. He is both supernatural and inhuman, after all, comes with the territory. Besides, Steve Harrington doesn't get to have secrets anymore, not with his marks on Billy's soul. 

Speaking of secrets. Steve blows out an annoyed sigh, and Billy can picture exactly what his face looks like, even though he's parked ass-first in a lounge chair by the pool. Probably a little glare, lips pulled into a pretty pout that he doesn't even know he's making, aimed down at the table instead of actually _at_ Wheeler. 

"He's a _demon_ , Steve." 

She's still talking. Billy figures he might as well light another cigarette, scrolls through his Instagram while he takes a drag. Temptation in the 21st century looks like a thirst trap, and business for Billy has never been better. 

"Really? Thanks for telling me, Nance, I hadn't noticed." Steve's voice is full of exasperation and annoyance. That's completely fair - Wheeler's brought this same conversation up twice this month alone. She's lucky that Billy's not bored enough with Indiana yet to start _trying_ to piss Steve off. 

"I just want to make sure that-"

"What gave it away?"

Billy lets himself grin, quick, and takes another drag of his smoke. One thing that he just really appreciates about Steve is how much of a smartass he can be. 

"Was it the eye thing? Oh, maybe it was when he pinned Dustin to the ceiling so that he could get the last piece of pizza? That's when I started to think, 'Hm, maybe Billy isn't human! Maybe I did a deal with a demon for Jonathan's soul instead of a...' Shit. I don't know. Hair metal groupie?" 

_Ouch_. Okay, Billy's less amused now.

Wheeler doesn't say anything. Even from her view up there on her high horse, she hasn't found a good reply whenever Steve brings up why Billy's around. Her face goes all pinched whenever Steve wears clothes that don't cover the vines that wrap around his wrists and ankles, the thin little vine of black that encircles his neck just above the collar of his shirts. They're all a deep, vicious black, like a fresh tattoo.

Billy doesn't see a point in hiding his own. He likes how they catch the light of the sun and shimmer, go hard to see in the dark of night. His are more like scar tissue than tattoos - a manifestation of Steve's magic and divine intervention, courtesy of the little blood magic trick Steve pulled. 

"You have no idea what I know about him," Steve is saying, low and insistent. "You don't have the first _clue_ what he's actually capable of."

Wheeler gives a little scandalized gasp. "Oh my god, did you fall in _love_ with him?"

Alright, that's enough. Billy heaves himself out of the chair and shoves his phone in his pocket with far more noise than necessary. Sneaking up on Steve can have explosive and painful consequences. He doesn't bother putting out the cigarette, instead leans up against the frame of the open door and pins Wheeler with a smile. 

"It's getting late," he says, saccharine and pleasant in a way that they both know is completely fake. They're under no illusions about each other - Billy is very aware of how much Nancy Wheeler hates him, and he's made sure she knows that the feeling is completely mutual. "You should probably go, before your pet zombie starts to worry."

Wheeler makes that pinched face again, a lot of fury packed into one expression. Billy likes getting under her skin, but it's not exactly a _challenge_ to piss her off. Hell, Billy can send her into a fit with a well-timed whistle. 

The real reward here is Steve's reaction. "Knock it off," he says, and that glorious glare sweeps from the kitchen table, up Billy's body, to Billy's eyes. 

There's something intoxicating about Steve's attention, especially now that he's Billy's for the rest of eternity. A wire got crossed somewhere along the way - Billy likes making Steve cry just as much as he likes to make Steve laugh. He's seen the vicious expression that Steve wears when he pulls something over on Billy, though. Deep down, Steve is made of the same tar-black, poisonous stuff that Billy is. 

"This isn't your house," Wheeler says. Billy drags his eyes from Steve to look at where she still hasn't moved from the table. " _You_ don't get to throw me out. Steve won't let you throw me out."

Oh, but Billy's been _begging_ for this kind of opening. He drops his half-finished cigarette onto the concrete of the patio, stubs it out with his boot before he walks inside. "He won't _let_ me?" he says, all hints of pleasantry gone. Wheeler stiffens, straight-backed in the kitchen chair. She probably doesn't realize the way that her arms cross defensively, protectively, just like she probably doesn't really notice the way Billy lets himself go from relaxed to looming, coiled muscle and presence. 

Even now, with his eyes on Wheeler's thin, perfect little frame, Billy's more focused on Steve, and the little crack of electricity that sparks through the air, invisible to the naked eye and singing with anger. He doesn't think Steve's figured out that he is _always_ the endgame, yet. "Enough," he says, and Billy can taste the command in his words. "Both of you, cut it out."

There's a deep, violent part of him that likes the way that Wheeler's eyes dart to Steve. She's searching for protection, someone to fend off the beast that's stalking towards her, and Billy's had a long time and a lot of conditioning to become addicted to the smell of fear. There's a bigger part, though, that's dark and possessive, and it doesn't want her looking at Steve at all. He doesn't want her thinking that Steve can offer her a single damn thing now that Billy's got his claws in Steve's skin.

So yeah, he feels the _will_ and the _intent_ that Steve packs into his words. He feels the tug on the bond that chains them together. But while Steve may be the kind of witch that only comes around once every couple of millennia, Billy's got the kind of time on his side that immortals can only dream of. So batting his magic away, ignoring that little pull on the bond is nothing to Billy. 

The table goes screeching away from Wheeler and Steve, across the kitchen. Billy sidesteps it neatly, keeps his stride even and controlled, ignores Steve's surprised shout and her terrified shriek as the table crashes into the kitchen island with an unholy racket behind him. There's nothing between Billy and his target now. All the hunters' reflexes in the world couldn't save her - he doesn't _need_ to touch her to get her up against the wall, pins her to tasteful paint and drags her up until she's _almost_ eye level with him. He doesn't _need_ to kick the chair out of the way either, but he likes the sound that it makes when it topples over, the shockwave that ripples through the building when his boot connects with the wood. 

Steve doesn't say anything. Well, Billy thinks, maybe this can be a little reality check for the both of them. Kid gloves are coming off. 

"Let's get some things straight here, Miss Priss." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and watches the way Wheeler swallows, pinned to the wall by the invisible force that Billy wields. She's awfully fucking quiet now, Billy would like the record to show. "You seem to think that I'm on some kind of fucking leash. I am _ancient_ , alright? I'm the kind of evil monster that other monsters hope they never run into. I make the spooky shit you've seen look like a frat party at Halloween." Her eyes are wide, and she stops breathing when he leans in close. "Steve doesn't _let_ me do anything. If anything, I'm the one pulling the strings. And I'm not feeling very fucking _lenient_ right now."

"That's _enough!"_

The blow of power that hits Billy in the side catches him by surprise. He stumbles with it, offers just enough of an opening for Steve that he can send Billy catapulting back across the kitchen. He slams into the table, skitters across the top, and goes over the kitchen island in a whirlwind of movement. There's a resounding thud when he hits the floor on the other side, followed by the cacophony of glassware shattering and cutlery clashing around him. 

He stays down, stunned. That shouldn't have worked. Steve is _strong_ , yeah, powerful in a way that Billy hasn't seen in a long time, but he shouldn't have been able to break even that tiny bit of demonic energy that Billy had been using to keep Wheeler up against the wall. Holy fuck. Maybe Billy's underestimated him.

The front door slams. If she's smart, that's the sound of Wheeler hauling ass out of the house and away from Billy. Sure enough, when he rolls to his feet and pulls himself up on the island, it's just Steve standing across the room, no Wheeler in sight. 

Steve looks _furious_ , glorious and wild in all of his righteous anger. "You don't get to do that shit," he snaps, and the words crackle between them. Shit, Billy really _did_ underestimate him, because this is the kind of unbridled magic that runs unchecked, relies on emotion more than actual thought or intention. Billy's never been so pleased to be wrong.

He laughs, and when he strides around the counter, he can hear the little _clinks_ as shards of glass fall off of his clothes. "You don't tell me what I can and can't do, baby." Billy kind of thinks he knows where this is going, likes the image of Steve underneath him, angry and hard as the magic rolls off of him in waves. "I've been _patient_ , princess, I've been real fucking nice so far. It's _way_ past time she learned who you _belong_ to."

"You don't own me," Steve growls out. It's a nice little sentiment, Billy thinks, and gives a sharp tug on the bond just to hear Steve's breath stutter with it. 

There's too much space between them. It's only a couple of steps until Billy can get his hand around the back of Steve's neck, pull him in close and bury his nose in the pulse of his throat. That's the plan, anyway. 

He only gets close dong enough to see Steve's eyes flash gold, and then something _shoves_ Billy back. This time he feels the _yank_ on the strings, the hand digging around in his own soul. "Clever," he says, can't help the way that he grins at Steve. Credit where credit's due. His boy looks so fucking good when he's angry. "Did you learn a new trick, baby?" 

"Let's get some things straight here," Steve replies, an echo of the same words that Billy had said to Nancy Wheeler only a few minutes ago. 

"What, you gonna tell me you top from now on?" Billy moves, paces slow and deliberate. He makes sure that Steve's eyes follow him before he starts to edge in closer. Steve doesn't notice the little shifts he's doing to keep track of Billy, doesn't clock onto the way that Billy's herding him back into the corner of the kitchen. "You wanna wear the pants in this relationship, Stevie? If you want to fuck me that bad, all you have to do is ask."

The whip-crack of electricity is unexpected. Billy dodges, feels the spark of it just miss him, loses any ground that he might have gained when Steve ducks through the arch into the living room. 

"I fucked you on Tuesday," Steve replies, waspish and annoyed. "You told me, and I quote, 'Stick that giant dick in me, pretty boy, you're tall enough to ride.'" He's walking backwards, hands held just slightly up, fingers curled. 

Billy's never actually seen him fight anything with his magic, just seen little pieces of it here and there, whispers of power. He's heard rumors that Steve is a force to be reckoned with, knows the bounty on his soul is high, still, even if no one is willing to go up against Billy to get to it. 

He wants to see it. He wants to _taste_ that magic coming off of Steve's body in waves. All those crossed wires that make Billy up, all those misfires and things that are _wrong_... maybe he's a little bit of a masochist too. Lucifer told him once, early on, that you can't get through Hell without finding at least a little pleasure in the pain. 

"You know what your problem is, Stevie?" Running his mouth is a good way to keep distracting Steve, he's found over the years of their association. It's less effective now that they're bound like they are, but it's still satisfying to get to Steve, find all the little cracks and see what he can break.

Steve gets one of the chic, beige sofas between them. It's a useless barrier in the grand scheme of things, but Billy can let him have it. For now. "I'm sure you're gonna tell me," Steve says, face doing that adorable little pissed-off pout. "You'll probably list 'em chronologically. No, wait, alphabetically."

Of all the people to be stuck with for eternity, Billy's glad he got one with a mouth. Keeps things interesting. "You're too nice." Billy leans against the back of the couch, braces his hands on the uncomfortable upholstery and smiles at Steve. It's gonna be good when Billy catches him, he can feel the heat curling in his gut already. Because Billy _will_ catch him. "You're _good_ , baby, you're so fucking sweet. You got all this _skill_ , all this potential to be something incredible, and you're still... here. Hanging out with your high school sweetheart, fixing people's stupid little bullshit problems like a magician at a birthday party." 

"Skip the supervillain recruitment speech, Hargrove," Steve says. The name stings, it always does. That's what he gets for trying to be a real boy, Billy supposes. "I _like_ what I do."

"I know, it's a crying shame." 

Steve's tongue darts out, sweeps across his bottom lip and catches on a bit of chapped skin. It's hypnotic, distracting - Billy knows how good that mouth can be, whether it's spitting insults or choking on Billy's cock. "Are you getting bored or something? You need, like, entertainment? Stimulation? A big box of hay to play with or a beach ball full of meat?"

And, yeah, okay, Billy's been feeling a little bit neglected. The itch to stretch his wings, as it were, to make a deal and tempt someone's soul away from them. He's on borrowed time, after all, is just waiting for the boys downstairs to get wind of what he did. They'll come knocking eventually. 

Billy's fingers dig into the couch, nails piercing through the cloth to the stuffing underneath. He hates this fucking couch. "What can I say, baby, you're my favorite toy to play with."

He vaults himself over the back, expects Steve to go scrambling backwards, maybe trip over the coffee table. Instead, Steve's hand comes up just as Billy starts to move, and the couch itself hurtles to the side, end over end, taking Billy with it. It slams not just into the wall, but punches a hole through it in a splintering of wood and drywall. Billy shoves it off of him and comes up snarling, only to immediately duck to avoid the glass coffee table. It shatters on the wall behind him, collapses into a pile of broken glass and twisted metal. 

Billy catches a glimpse of Steve as he disappears up the stairs, just the barest hint of his jeans and the pounding sound of his feet, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to put distance between them. They're chained together at the soul, though, and all the distance in the universe wouldn't be enough to keep Billy away. He's following Steve before he even really thinks about, drawn in like the tide to the moon. It's second fucking nature to step around the debris and trail Steve up the stairs, even when he hears the slam of a door and the tiny little click of a lock. 

"You know that won't stop me," he calls when he hits the hallway. Steve's room is at the end. "You know you can't run from me, pretty boy." 

It's probably a little extra to kick the door open when he could literally just rip it off the hinges with a thought. Sue him, Billy's always had a flair for the dramatics. The door flies open, lock cracking the wood of the frame, and maybe Billy did exert a little demonic effort, because it also hangs cockeyed off the lower hinge. 

He doesn't care. Billy's goal is across the room by the window, narrow-eyed and livid, sparks flying from his fingertips. The first energy ball is _exhilarating_ when it flies past Billy's shoulder like a warning shot, makes his hair stand on end and goosebumps rise up on his skin. Steve is _gorgeous,_ red-faced and panting with the sheer effort of using Billy's own power stores against him. Lot of power for little ol' him to handle, honestly. 

"This is fun, right?" Billy moves, narrowly avoids another energy ball. It hits the wall and burns for a second, turns the wallpaper black and curling. "You're just wearing yourself out, babe, you know I'm gonna catch you."

"Fuck you," Steve snarls, and hurls a third ball of energy, smaller than the other two. It misses Billy, shoots past his thigh like Steve was aiming for his crotch. Billy wouldn't put that past him.

There's nowhere for Steve to go. It's easy to shove him up against the wall next to the window, simple to catch his hands by the wrists and wedge his thigh between Steve's. "You're such a little bitch," Billy murmurs, low like it's an endearment. It kind of is, for him. He means it in a complimentary way, wouldn't want Steve any other way. He drags his nose down the line of Steve's jaw, buries his nose just under Steve's chin and breathes in. The scent of Steve's magic always makes Billy think of rain and thunder. "I wasn't gonna _hurt_ her."

"You're an arrogant _asshole_." Steve tugs at his wrists, squirms where he's pinned by Billy's body.

He's hard, though. Billy can feel it, the erection in his jeans pressed against Billy's thigh. So he grins and nips at the delicate skin of Steve's neck, says, "Don't try to suck up to me now, princess. That tantrum was _impressive_."

"I wasn't throwing a ta-"

Steve breaks off into a gasp as Billy bites, hard, sucks a mark into Steve's neck too high to hide. It's August, too hot for a scarf or a turtleneck, and Billy will destroy anything that Steve tries to cover it up with. Wheeler can glare at him all she wants, Steve is _his._ The sooner she gets that through her head, the better. Apparently Steve also needs a reminder.

"You're the one throwing a fucking hissy fit," Steve says, rips one of his wrists out of Billy's hold and tangles it in Billy's hair. He yanks Billy's face away from his neck with a rough pull - Billy lets him, hissing at the delicious sting. "You get to do this kind of shit, you don't _own_ me."

"I mean, yeah, I kind of do." Billy lifts his free hand, drags one of his blunt nails across the line of the magical mark around Steve's neck. "I could wrap a pretty leash around your neck if I wanted to, I could keep you all to myself. I've been _nice_ ," he says again. "You wear _my_ marks, pretty boy. Not hers."

A strangled, annoyed sound erupts from Steve, but his eyes are glinting with something like victory. "So you're _jealous_." 

There's no point in denying it. "You did sell your soul for her. Well, Byers, I guess, but that's a technicality." Billy shifts his thigh, pressing up just to hear Steve's breath catch. "You're real fucking lucky I don't stake my claim while she watches."

Steve stiffens for a second before he goes lax, lets his hips stutter out a roll against the friction that Billy's providing. He drops his hand from Billy's hair to fist it in the dark fabric of the button-down shirt that's already half-unbuttoned. His other hand is still trapped in the demon's iron grip, but he seems to forget for a second, tries to raise that hand too. 

"I think you like that idea," Billy says. He's thinking he's gonna keep Steve right here, watch him come in his pants. Maybe he'll fuck Steve against the wall after, if he feels like the bed's too far. "More than you wanna admit, baby. Did I ruin you? Tempt you away from being a good, upstanding member of society?" 

He's expecting something a little closer to the usual script - Steve telling him to go fuck himself, maybe, or even Steve telling him not to be such a tease and get to the good stuff already. What Billy gets is a surprise, in the form of Steve snorting disbelievingly and then slipping his hand inside the crumpled fabric of Billy's shirt, fingers skating across the overheated skin of his chest. Human bodies are sensitive, Billy's learned over the more hedonistic experiences of his existence, and his vessel is no exception. The swipe of Steve's thumb over the peak of his nipple makes him shiver.

Steve turns his face, and his lips brush Billy's cheek when he speaks. "Sounds like you're making a lot of assumptions." 

The next thing that Billy knows, he's being shoved back. It shouldn't be possible - Steve is _human_ , with human strength, but it's definitely the force from hand in the center of Billy's chest that's sending him stumbling backwards. His grip on Steve's wrist goes even tighter, bruising fingers on Steve's skin. Steve doesn't seem to care. He follows Billy step for step until the back of Billy's knees hit the bed, and then he shoves again, hard, a sudden rush of magic and sparks and overwhelming _intent_ , the pull of something foreign on the spiderwebs that make up Billy's soul. 

It takes his breath away. That's saying something, because Billy doesn't actually need to breathe. 

The shock that shoots through him isn't electric - it's magic, stems from the center of his chest and shivers down his body. He releases Steve's wrist out of surprise more than anything else, but Steve doesn't take the opportunity to dart away. Instead, Steve shoves him, again, with an inhuman strength that sends Billy sprawling across the bed. 

"Stay down," Steve says. His voice is low, dripping at the edges with the molten gold of pure energy. It's a command just as much as it's a manifestation of Steve's will, and the taste of magic is heady on Billy's tongue. 

He wants to see where this goes. So he stays down. 

"You keep forgetting." Steve talks while he strips, pulls his shirt over his head and drops it to the floor, works on his jeans next while Billy's eyes drag down the line of his body with a hunger he doesn't bother to hide. "You keep acting like this doesn't go both ways."

"Oo, pretty boy's getting a little cocky," Billy says, folding his arms behind his head. He's waiting, he can be patient. The sight of Steve pulling his jeans off, letting Billy see that always-impressive tent of his hard cock in his boxers. Maybe Billy's getting _too_ hedonistic these days, if the idea of getting a taste makes his mouth water. "You give a guy one taste of incredible, divine power, and he starts thinking he can manhandle you. Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman?"

"I'm not _supposed_ to be anything." 

The drawer of the nightstand squeaks when Steve yanks it open. Billy rolls his head to follow Steve with his eyes, just to enjoy the stellar view of Steve's pert little ass. It's even better when he turns around and throws the half-full lube at Billy's head. Even if he has to catch it in a supernaturally-fast hand, he likes getting an eyeful of the way that Steve's cock curves up to his belly. 

"Do I need to do all the heavy lifting?" Steve demands, looking pointedly down at where Billy's still wearing his own jeans.

"You're real fuckin' catty, babe. I'm a little nervous to let your claws too close to my dick tonight." Speaking of, Billy's dick is aching, now that he notices it. Arousal isn't hard to come by for him, especially when Steve is involved, but he's not the type to be caught up in things, out of control with his desire. 

Popping the button and pulling the zipper of his fly down is relieving. Getting his jeans pulled down his thighs is even better, and kicking them off as he curls a hand around himself is just more fuel on the hellfire that's been simmering low in his belly all night. Steve watches with no shame, eyes half-lidded and cheeks still red from the anger and exertion of their fight. 

"Come here," Billy says, drags his eyes up Steve's chest to his face. "You've been asking for it all night."

Steve's full of surprises. He climbs onto the bed, swings a leg over Billy's thighs, but he bats Billy's hands away when he reaches to curl them over Steve's hips. "You don't touch," he snaps. "You're _real fuckin' catty,_ yourself." He snatches the lube up, spills too much over his fingers. 

And the thing is, Billy could push him back, could _make_ Steve do what Billy wants. He could take all that power right back, rip it out of Steve's metaphysical grasp. This is a brand new trick that Steve's learned, after all. Ultimately, he's got no idea what to do with the kind of seemingly-limitless energy stores that can drive him mad if he lets them. Billy could take it all away, leave him empty and bereft without it. He could funnel it all through Steve in one blinding surge, too, burn him out from the inside. 

Billy was _made_ to handle this kind of power, born from it, created specifically to act as a conduit. Steve is a child playing dress-up by cloaking himself in what he doesn't really understand.

They have forever, though, and a little longer after that. Steve could understand if Billy puts the time and effort into teaching him. Once upon a time, Billy was patient and understanding, could guide humans through life with a gentle, divine hand. Maybe he could be again, albeit for far more selfish purposes. He's got a list. Steve's aptitude for power could be a very enjoyable means to an end.

So he settles, smooths his hands down Steve's thighs instead of pulling him closer, blunt nails scoring thin marks just to watch the muscles jump beneath his fingers. The look on Steve's face shifts from a moment of startled pleasure to a sharp, narrowed eyes when Billy doesn't make a move. It's a night of surprises all around, apparently. He gives Steve a smirk, lets the arrogance roll off of him in tangible waves, pats Steve's thigh in a clear message to get on with it before Billy gets bored.

"You're such a dick," Steve mutters, rolling his eyes. He reaches behind himself, and Billy would kill for a mirror right now - he loves the sight of his _own_ fingers sinking into the tight clutch of Steve's heat. Watching Steve work himself open feels decadent, a sight that Billy's only been able to witness a handful of times. Most of those were back at the beginning of their association with each other, when Steve thought Billy was human too. 

The memories of Steve laid out in front of him, fingering himself open hastily because it's all Billy's going to give him has nothing on this. Billy can't even _see_ the main show, as it were, but he's entranced all the same. There's a little furrow in Steve's brow, and his eyes go unfocused, dark and wide, mouth falling open on a quiet intake of breath. For all the ways that Billy's had him, all the temptations that Steve's given into on Billy's not-so-gentle coaxing, _this_ is what feels the most intimate. 

"Power looks good on you, baby," Billy says, taking a risk and settling his hands lightly on Steve's waist. He resists the urge to dig his fingers in and bruise, to flip Steve over and _take_ what he wants. Little flickers of magic that are still rolling off of Steve in bright, glittering sparks, like Steve's some kind of live wire in his lap. "Maybe I owe Wheeler a gift basket for finally letting me get my hands on you." He's not talking physically, of course. He's had his hands on Steve _literally_ since the very beginning.

Steve growls, a rumbling sound that shoots through Billy's very being, a sound that's strangely infernal. Not something Billy would have expected from his entirely _human_ witch, maybe a sound pulled from how Steve's still got his metaphysical fingers tangled in the strings of Billy's wicked soul. He shifts, moving up until he's straddling Billy's waist instead of his thighs, reaches behind himself to wrap a hand around Billy's cock.

"I didn't do this for _her_ ," Steve hisses out. A mention of Wheeler right now shouldn't sound like dirty talk to Billy, but Steve sinking down, slow and determined, onto his cock is distracting, to say the least. 

Billy flexes his hands, finally digs his fingers in deep over marks he left only days ago. He pulls Steve down the last little bit, revels in the way that he goes taut at the stretch. It has to burn, has to be a stretch - Steve is _tight_ , and Billy watches as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth, digs in. His cock is thick, though, wet at the tip and leaking prettily, even if Steve smells like the _hint_ of bitter pain and hot anger and fresh, clean _magic_. 

When Billy has Steve pressed flush to him, he shifts, brings his arms around Steve's back and uses some of that inhuman, demonic strength to drag Steve close to his chest without room for argument or negotiation. The cry that Steve lets out when Billy sits up and manages to get his back against the headboard is a shot of liquid heat to Billy's system, as is the sharp pain that comes from Steve digging his fingernails into Billy's shoulders. Billy's not overly long, but he's _thick_ \- he's not ashamed to say that his favorite thing about this vessel is its cock. 

"You're so fucking pretty when you're pissed at me," he says, tilts his chin up to watch Steve's face. It's not a lie, even as steeped in condescension as the words are. Steve is good-looking all the time, but he's _gorgeous_ when all of that magical energy is sparking off of him, caught in the air in frequencies only Billy's inhuman eyes can see. He's pretty sure even Steve can't see the light-show he puts on when he loses his temper and lashes out. Maybe Steve would understand him a little better if he could. 

Steve tangles his hand in Billy's hair, pulls it harsh in retaliation. "What, you think you're _defiling_ me?" he pants out, levers to drag himself up just a bit and drop back down. So fucking good, Billy wants to make him do it again, harder. 

He tries. He gets a firm grip and tries to roll his hips up, tries to drag Steve down to meet him so he can see those brown eyes roll back in pleasure. Steve's eyes flash an angelic gold, a mirror of Billy's own power echoing back at him, and Billy lets out a wild shout as pleasure, shocky and sudden, lances through him from somewhere deep in his very being. 

"You're not the only one who's ever fallen from grace, Visrael." Steve's close, cheek pressed to Billy's as he rides Billy, slow with a syrupy, rubber-band tension. "I'm not _good_ , I'm not _innocent,_ and I didn't do _this_ for her." 

Another lightning bolt of pleasure, and Billy _breaks_ in a way he didn't know he still could. He snarls, more teeth and echoing hellfire than anything, plants his feet and fucks up into Steve. Steve gasps, tosses his head back, and finally loosens his hold on those deep, visceral parts of Billy's soul. He clings to Billy's shoulder and hair and hangs on for the ride, legs wrapped around Billy's waist. Billy's had a lot of sex, both literal and metaphysical, but he's never felt so lost in it all, unable to tell where his own being ends and Steve begins. 

It's _wild_ , untamed and tempestuous, sparks lighting and exploding around the bed like short-circuits. The scent of ozone and clean, salt-water air is overwhelming, mixing with the potent aura of sex and _Steve_ , wrapped around Billy and wanting. He smells like _emotion_ , pure and intoxicating, egging Billy on through the chains binding their souls and the harsh moans in Billy's ear as Billy fucks up into him. 

" _Mine_ ," Billy hisses, vicious through his teeth, as Steve shakes around him. "You're _mine_ , Steve Harrington."

It's kindling on the fire when Steve arches against him, gasoline when Steve sets his teeth to Billy's ear and bites down. He releases with a moan of, "Yours," drags his lips down Billy's jawline to lick his way past Billy's lips. His hand is big and heavy on the side of Billy's throat, trusting, doesn't understand the gravity of being allowed to touch such vulnerable parts of the terrible beast. 

Hell, Billy's only understanding the gravity of it. Just now, in this moment, with Billy's cock sunk into the warmth of Steve's body, and Steve's magic raking through Billy's soul.

So when Steve gasps out, "Mine, Visrael, you're _mine,"_ there's only one answer. 

He growls it out, half-gone with sensation. "All yours, Stevie."

Steve goes supernova, blinding light and intense heat, an echo chamber of pleasure and desperation as he clings to Billy. He comes, pressed between them, shoots up across Billy's abdomen. It's like the orgasm is second to whatever's going on in his mind, though - he shakes with it, lashes clumping wet while Billy watches in rapt fascination, clings to Billy and arches a second time against him, grinds down to chase the feeling of Billy inside him with something like a sob ripping from his throat. 

It's a reverberation of bliss, to the point that it's _painful_ , hard to bear. It echoes through Billy and back out again, comes back around a second time. Somehow, Steve comes _again_ , trembles apart in the cage of Billy's arms while his nails scratch across Billy's skin. The strings pull taut and snap back into place in the glow of fireworks, Steve finally tearing away from the chokechain grip he's had on Billy's soul. 

It's the relief and the agony that sends Billy reeling. He thrusts up into Steve, arms going iron tight around him, and his teeth find the meat of Steve's shoulder in a harsh, possessive snarl. It's the most intense orgasm he's ever had. It's the most intense _anything_ he's ever had, in all of the millennia and universes and worlds of his existence. 

When Billy opens his eyes, Steve is heavy against him, arms limp around his and head against Billy's shoulder. There's a thin trickle of blood from the bite that Billy had just left, and he heals it with a thought. Not all the way, just enough that the skin closes up and leaves a brilliant purple mark. It will linger, he thinks, for days. Longer if he lets it. 

"Get it now?" Even Steve's voice is exhausted. That's probably to be expected, considering the wreckage of the bedroom around them and the destruction downstairs. 

Billy's genuinely surprised that Steve's still conscious, if weak. There are scorch marks on the wall, burns across the carpet and furniture. The amount of energy that Steve had to wield to do all of this, to be able to reach into Billy's being and pull all that power out. To, even if just for a moment, _tame_ something like Billy.

"Yeah," he replies, hoarse. Billy's pretty damn tired himself. Wonders upon wonders, his whole worldview is irreparably shifted. "Yeah, baby, I get it."

He manages to get Steve situated on the bed, semi-clean and under the burned covers that will last one more night. The patio door downstairs closes with a simple thought, locks with another, even as he stays wrapped around Steve upstairs. The rest of the mess can wait long enough for Steve to sleep the magical exhaustion off, or even for Billy to rebuild some of his own energy stores. He actually might need to sleep. It's been... a long time since Billy's felt tired enough to _need_ to rest.

Steve murmurs his name again. Not "Billy," but "Visrael." It's a knee-jerk reaction to say, "Don't call me that," and he almost wants to pull the words back in. It's been so long since he's heard that name in a voice he _wanted_ to hear. But it's not who he is, now. 

He can play at affection well enough. But Billy _wants_ to lay like this for awhile, likes the indulgence of being able to relax naked, with the weight of Steve's head on his shoulder and the line of Steve by his side. It's a strange feeling. He's not one to linger, not one to get attached.

The sigh that Steve blows across his skin is just as content as it is tired. If Billy sniffs, he can smell the satisfaction Steve's feeling in smug waves. "Goes both ways, huh?" Billy finally asks, when he's sure that Steve's close to giving into sleep. 

Steve rouses enough to reply, stretches and settles again, loose-limbed and satiated. "I guess that's up to you. You don't have to stay, you know. You can go... I don't know, whatever demons like you do. Fiddle contests in Georgia?" 

God, Billy's so lucky he got stuck with someone as smart-ass as Steve. That the person who finally pulled this kind of soul-binding shit wound up being so much like him. Billy makes his trade by lying these days, but he's never lied to Steve outright. He's not about to start now, even if Steve's more unconscious than awake to hear him right now.

"You could put worlds between us, baby, and I'd burn them all to get to you."


End file.
